To Mark A frame-by-frame show of his toes dangling thoughtlessly, almost complacently over the edge of the world (bed) Poking playfully from out the Blanket - (cozy den of a dragon's womb spongily enveloping her) Comforting terrycloth tentacles swiped suddenly and scathingly from her familiarly cunning-less eyes: "no blind-folds here" he grinned "Who are you writing to?" he most disinterestedly inquired and begged a hug which was it not her solemn duty, & deepest pleasure to provide? most obligingly... Encapsulated in cool rippling currents now a cranberry stream trickling over her whole convoluted self with a molasses-like consistency, yet it oozed gently & willingly languishing within the sweet cocoon of all lost time. All my love dear Mark, -ARO-
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